


"My Greatest Fear...?"

by orphan_account



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Any other tags will be spolier-y so I'll add them as I go, F/M, Fear, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Torture, Violence, Weapons, spy AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-04-29 23:31:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14483607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Soulmate AU in which you dream the day your soulmate had, and visa versa, Except aLSO IT'S A SPY AU CAUSE I LOVE THEM FOR THIS FANDOM.Spot Conlon knew lots of things about his soulmate.He knew he was Italian, and a dancer. A great cook, and the biggest bookworm Spot had ever seen.He also knew that his soulmate had been captured by the most powerful and evil man New York City had known in over 60 years. .





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really excited for this fic tbh, I love the plot I have set up and I hope you all will, too!
> 
> There will be unrealistic future spy technology stuff, because you can't write a spy story without it. 
> 
> I'll include my research notes for each chapter if anybody wants to see them, so let me know if so!

When Spot fell asleep, he usually relished in his dreams. The system filtered out the mundane stuff, leaving some people with barely anything to dream about each night. Not Spot, though. He imagined his soulmate had plenty, too.

He knew his soulmate was a dancer. And a great one, at that. He was gorgeous, and looked like a force of nature when he danced. Spot never caught an address or studio distinct enough to know exactly where, but he could recognize those Brooklyn streets, whether conscious or otherwise.

Tonight was not a good night, however. There was no fun after dancing, but rather a blunt hit, seemingly out of nowhere and then a fall to the ground. The man, his soulmate, got up and tried to sprint away, but was overpowered. Spot saw the glint of metal momentarily, followed by the sneer of a man. Spot’s stomach churned when he realised who that man was. Snyder. He raised the metal object, a gun, hit his soulmate over the head. Everything went black.

Spot couldn’t do much of anything, even as adrenaline coursed through his veins and told him to _protect find him save him he needs you protect him save him fast hurry go now_. He awoke in a cold sweat and called the office immediately. 

“I’m on my way over, have somebody ready to let me in.” He said quickly, getting dressed and practically running out to his car, immensely thankful for the lack of 3 am traffic as he drove to the Manhattan wing of the New York secret intelligence agency.

When he arrived, Specs opened the door, looking exhausted. He gaped at Spot.

“You look like hell.” Specs said. Spot snorted as he went inside and stepped into the elevator alongside his lab partner.

“You’re one to talk.” He replied, sleep making his thick Brooklyn accent come out even stronger.

“Why are you back? I thought you were getting sleep tonight.” Specs said, and they stepped out of the elevator.

“Specs, I have a lead on Snyder.” Spot replied. Specs gazed at him, dumbfounded.

“You _what?_ “ He asked. Spot led them towards their bosses’ offices, where there was always somebody awake. If New York was the city that never sleeps, Spot’s workplace could be the capital.

He strode in with a purpose, sitting down at Pulitzer’s desk.

“What’s the matter, Sean?” He asked. Spot’s face hardened. He would be smiling, but there was a lot to take in. He had a lead on Snyder. His soulmate had been kidnapped. There was always a reason for Snyder’s doings, which meant there was something he didn’t know. He was about to tell his boss this. Adrenaline coursed through his veins.

“Nothing’s the matter, sir.” Specs left, sensing it best to not instrude and do the work he was told. Spot would fill him in later. “I have a lead on Snyder.” Pulitzer’s face was the same as Specs’ when he was told.

“By all means, fill me in.” He said, opening up a new tab on his computer to take notes. Spot rambled, noticing that he wasn’t cut off once as he spoke.

“So, you know The System? And soulmates, and all that? My soulmate’s a dancer, and uh- _he_ was going home today and was jumped. I saw Snyder’s face, clear as day. If we can find a dancer in Brooklyn who went missing late yesterday evening, and find out why, we can likely find something on him. I figured this was urgent and you’d want to know as soon as possible.” Pulitzer continued typing, and smiled a little as he worked out the details in his head.

“Spot Conlon, you clever, clever boy. You may have just given us the best lead we’ve had in months, years even. I’ll ensure you are at the head of the case and that we handle this with the utmost care, after all, your soulmate’s life is at stake.” 

Spot nodded once, twice. He stood, firmly shaking hands with Pulitzer. “Thank you, sir.” He turned to leave before his name was called.

“Yessir?” Spot asked. Pulitzer grinned just a little bit.

“I know your entire department has bedding and food stashed away all over the place. I understand if you don’t want to leave the office, you can use the showers and the clothes you keep in that suitcase in the corner. We can fully supply for you. Just get some rest, please.” He said. It was all Spot could do not to blush at being called out, although part of him had always known that Pulitzer was well aware of field detectives’ resistance to going home when it could be avoided.

“I will, Mr. Pulitzer. Thank you, sir.” He said, leaving the office and walking quickly to his own, setting up the air matress he kept in the closet the moment he got there.

While it inflated, Spot told Specs everything that he knew, and that he would lead the case which meant that, by extension, so would Specs. 

The two boys settled down, Specs announcing that he wasn’t going to leave in the first place, but certainly not now. He rose to flip off the fluorescent office lights, and bidding Spot goodnight.

Spot found himself unable to sleep, however. This was important. He and Specs were head of the department unofficially named “Baddie hunters”. They tracked, went after, and detained as many violent, high risk individuals as they could. Snyder had been at the top of their list for years.

The gravity of the situation was truly starting to catch up to him. This would ensure he didn’t leave the office for days, Buttons and Specs would worry. More importantly, he had a chance to lead a team of extremely qualified and talented individuals, but they were all his friends. 

Going after a man this powerful was almost ensured to have casualties, but Spot’s stomach churned at the mere thought of any of his friends being killed, or worse, captured. Snyder seemed to find a sadistic joke in torturing his captives until they no longer remained human. He turned intelligent, strong, brave individuals into animalistic creatures with which to do his bidding. 

When Jack was rescued, it took the agency almost six months to get him back to _him_ , and in that time, Spot had never seen anybody as afraid as Davey was.

He stayed up all night, a fact made evident by the dark, sunken bags under his eyes that never seemed to go away, no matter how much coffee he drank.

Davey would often creep out of his office to sit down next to where Jack was bound and try to talk him out of whatever robotic trance he was in. Once, he removed Jack’s binds in futile hope, only to be attacked and nearly sent to the hospital. 

Even when Jack had been recovered and therapy had sent him relatively back to normal, he was never quite the same. He still jumped if you surprised him, and would breathe a little too hard for a little too long. His eyes were still wild and panicked every time they went into lockdown, and he still had issues trusting anyone who came near him.

Worst of all, however, were the night terrors. Jack would, at around the same time every night, toss and yell and cry about things that weren’t there. Davey would hold him tight, and Jack would still thrash and push away from him. He was known to never, ever, push away from Davey in any moment except for his terrors. They would often go on until Davey was able to wake him up, and Jack would wake with a wild, terrified look in his eyes that you almost couldn’t see through the tears. He would sob into Davey’s chest and apologise a million times over for hurting him. Even when Davey was bruised or sore, he never offered anything but encouragement to Jack. 

It occured to Spot that everything Jack had gone through (Which Davey had experienced in startling, vivid detail), his soulmate was going through now.

His soulmate, who was gentle and perfect and kind. His soulmate, who danced his days away but often got back to realise he didn’t have enough money to eat. His soulmate, who was going to make waves in the world of dance, even his instructors said so. 

His soulmate, who could be dying.

Spot clutched his blanket tight and watched as more and more office lights flickered out, the faint sound of air mattresses being filled taking over the subtle beeps of security and clacking of keys that always took over the office. Spot figured Pulitzer had to have sent out an email informing the entire wing of the operation, and they had all decided it wouldn’t be worth going home if they could be called back at any moment.

Spot pulled out his phone and used it to check his email, reading down until Pulitzer detailed that he would be pulling and compiling all previous information, leads, and accomplices for them to use, and that there would be a meeting across the entire wing to discuss what needed to be done to find Snyder as soon as possible. 

Spot sighed and turned his phone off, plugging it back in, and closing his eyes as he listened to Jack and Davey through the share wall between their office and his and Specs’. 

_”I just really don’t want to hurt you, Davey. Please, stay on a different mattress. I’ll be fine.”_

_“No you won’t. Come on, Jack. You’re not going to hurt me, I swear. Lay down._

_“I hate you, Davey.”_

_“Love you too, Jack. Be nice to Spot in the morning, he’s going through exactly what we did and he’s gonna need some help with it all. You know how much of a mess I was.”_

_“Mhm. I gotcha’, Dave. We’re gonna make Snyder pay, though.”_

_“Damn right we are.”_

Spot sighed as their conversation ceased. He didn’t want to be pity amongst anyone, he was _fine._ He wasn’t hurt by this at all, no way. Spot Conlon didn’t get scared. He’d be fine.

So, he closed his eyes and went to sleep.

~~~~~

When Race awoke, the first thing that hit him was the pungent smell of mold and rot. He nearly gagged before even opening his eyes, but when he did, his face filled with terror.

It was mostly dark in the small room his was in, with a faint beam of moonlight streaming through a single small window behind him. Race lifted his head to examine the tiny room, and scrambled up.

He knew why he was here, and he was very well aware that he was completely and utterly fucked.

Race made his way to the window, with bars over it. Based on how foggy it was, race decided there was no use in letting his consciousness be known. Best to figure out as much as he could before people had their eyes on him.

Race crawled over to the rubble piled in every corner of the room. He was made acutely aware of the pain blossoming through his ribs and back, no doubt in the form of nasty welts, and hissed in pain. He made it to the corner of the room and, as quietly as possible, dug through the rubble in search of something, _anything_ that could give him a way out.

It was repulsive, and the room had to be no more than 4 feet on all sides.

A noise from the door snapped Race out of his search. The click of a lock. He rushed to the center of the room, his chin angled down to avoid looking at his captor.

“Hello, Antonio.”

Race’s gaze hardened, though he refused to look up. He didn’t have to.

“Fuck, I should have _known_ this had something to do with you.” Race spat. The girl, her boots now dangerously close to Race’s body, chuckled.

“I has nothing to do with me. I just do what the man in charge tells me to.” The woman crouched down and grabbed Race harshly by the chin, forcing him to make eye contact.

“And he told me, Higgins, that he is going to do everything in his power to ensure that your stay here is _not_ a pleasant one.” She woman stood, and Race glared at her, his icy blue eyes hardened into a look of unadulterated hatred. She turned to leave the room.

“He knows about your soulmate.” She said, before shutting the door and promptly locking it behind her.

“Shit.” Race mumbled, wishing in that exact moment that his soulmate was anybody except for who he was. He worked for the New York Intelligence Agency. Race learned a long time ago, that meant spies. He knew his name and everything. Problem was, he was under so much government protection it was impossible to find him.

Sean “Spot” Conlon was, in essence, untrackable.

Race cursed again under his breath and leaned back. He knew that Spot would spend every waking moment attempting to find him. He knew that Spot could see most of what he could, and that was an issue. It meant that Spot officially had a lead, and Race knew that the whole agency would be searching for him by the next morning.

Sure, there was a chance Snyder would be caught, but he was the single most powerful mobster New York had ever seen, including those from a time in which it was the standard. 

Race wished his soulmate weren’t powerful, so he could just be tortured and killed without putting Spot in danger, too. Especially since Snyder knew. It was everything he could do not to cry in that moment.

“Fuck.” He said one last time, leaning against the wall, before collapsing into sleep, surrounded by rot and darkness, and worst of all, _fear._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 2. Important chapter. Pay close attention to what is said, it'll be important later.

Spot had barely slept a wink when he was shaken awake by Specs, who had clearly figured he wasn’t going to get up of his own volition. 

Spot groaned and rolled over to face Specs, slowly opening his eyes into the bright office light. The smell of coffee had already permeated into their small, shared workspace, and was the only thing really prompting him to get up.

He stood and made his way over to the stack of suitcases he and Specs piled in the corner, full of clothes and toiletries and food for when they stayed far later than what was healthy.

He handed Specs his suitcase, opening up his own.

“We’re having a wing-wide meeting on what the plan is, but Pulitzer said we don’t have to dress up.” Specs said, and Spot nodded, pulling out a simple T shirt and jeans, throwing down the blinds, and changing as he discussed the plan with Specs.

“Technically, you’re only assistant director of this one.” Spot joked, and Specs chuckled.

“I’m gonna be more help than you are, you look like hell.” He replied.

“Fuck off. You can understand my worry.” Spot mumbled in response, and both men walked out to get some of the inevitable unbearably strong coffee brewing in the break room.

Specs didn’t respond, instead opting to give Spot a worried look before holding the door for him and letting Spot face the crowd of worried agents.

Jack spun on his heels as soon as Spot entered, staring at him as though he simply couldn’t believe what word around the office was. Davey spoke for him.

“Spot, consider us the luckiest agency on Earth.” He said. Spot barely expressed concern as he poured his drink, but his heart was pounding at the intensity of the room.

“Why’s that?” He asked. Davey responded without missing a beat.

“Are you kidding? One of our employees just so _happens >_ to have a soulmate who can give us a solid lead on Snyder? This is major!” He exclaimed. Jack stepped forward, looking worried. He tapped Davey on the arm and whispered something in his ear, causing Davey to flush completely. He pulled away, looking embarrassed.

“Oh.” He said, and Spot could practically see the gears in his mind turning. “Sorry, Spot I didn’t think about it like tha-” Spot scoffed a little, brushing past him and ignoring Specs’ protests to stay.

“Don’t worry about it.” Spot said coldly, letting the tense room grow even more silent than it had been before, and causing a few agents to cast dirty looks at Davey.

To call somebody lucky to have their soulmate kidnapped by Snyder was one of the worst things you could say to a person around here, where everyone had seen the aftermath of his endeavors more times than they liked to admit.

Still, Davey thought logically, not with emotions in mind, and sometimes he said precisely the wrong things without even knowing it. Thank god he had Jack, the soulful, empathetic man with other people in mind at all times.

Spot sat down at a small work table as quiet conversations resumed across the break room, also used a conference room, and Spot leaned over his charts, placing people in groups for investigation and pencilling in who would be doing what to get as much done as possible. 

After a few minutes, the door swung open again and the room fell so silent, even Spot looked up from the work he was absorbed in. This time, however, it was no agent, but Pulitzer.

He stepped to the front of the room, directing everybody who was still standing to take a seat. He gestured for Spot to come up to the front of the room. 

“So, I trust you have all read the email I sent last night, and if you haven’t, you’ve been filled in on the situation by now. We have a solid lead on Snyder that, if investigated swiftly and efficiently, could lead us to him in the weeks to come.” Pulitzer said. Excitement was tangible in the room. “As you should all be aware, Spot will lead this operation. As head of the department, along with Specs, I see him as more than qualified to make decisions about your positions as we attempt to track him down.” Pulitzer finished by listing those who were in the midst of other high-stakes investigations, and that they would be unable to participate.

“We’ll meet here tomorrow once Spot has his plan set up for our strategy.” Spot cleared his throat a little and stood up straighter.

“Actually, sir, it’s already done.” He said. Pulitzer whistled, impressed.

“Well, by all means, read it.” He said. Spot held out his paper and went systematically through everything he had come up with.

“Okay, so obviously Specs and I are leading so if you have any questions or concerns we’re the ones to come to. We’ll be doing everything in our power to make sure this operation goes as smoothly as possible.” Spot paused and took a breath before launching into his divisions.

“Okay, so all lab teams will by lead primarily by Specs and all field teams will be lead primarily by me. First up is our intelligence team: Davey, Crutchie, Henry, and Albert. You’re going to work on analysis of information, evidence, and future research. Mike, I need you to help them if they request it. When we leave, you need to analyze everything we have on Snyder and his known accomplices. Try to get something we can work with.” The newly formed team looked around and nodded. They were by far the best analyzers the wing had to offer, and as such had worked together more than a few times. They’d have no issue being on a team.

“Next up: Buttons, Elmer, Ike, and Romeo. You’re going to work on legality. Get us warrants, probable cause, and hold on to any semblance of evidence that can help us get where we need. If it’s fake ID’s, which it possibly will, that’s all you.” The boys looked around and agreed that they were certainly the most skilled in that department.

“Finally, Smalls, Finch, Buttons. Mike, this will be your primary job. I want all of you on weapons and field. You’ll be in development of any weapons that might help us, as well as other assets. When we go for field or undercover missions, we’ll come to you.” Spot concluded, letting everybody get arranged before he finished.

“Anybody who needs to can go out investigating, so long as they don’t do so alone and inform me, Pulitzer, and get somebody on intelligence watching you through cameras and mics. I’m going to send out more detailed emails in the next half hour to each team and what they’ll be doing. Make yourselves comfortable, this is going to be a long mission.” 

Spot shook Pulitzer’s hand and sat down to a round of respectful applause before the agents, contented with their new jobs and teams, went to set up joint offices in unused offices and conference rooms, and to get to work.

Spot got back to his desk and sighed, typing out informative emails with Specs and sending them all to each team, answering questions anybody might have.

This was going to be the most challenging mission any of them had ever undertaken. 

~~~~

It had only been a day, and Race was already on the verge of ripping himself apart. Himself or Snyder. Maybe both. 

Regardless, he hardened his jaw and cast his gaze down every time Hanna walked into the room. She sneered at him, he insulted back, she would hit him a few times and then leave. 

Looking back at what had lead up to this, Race had every reason to believe it would have happened, and even more to be more careful. But Racetrack Higgins wasn’t known for being careful, so really all could do was look back and mentally kick himself.

He had deduced hours ago that there was no way he could get out, and his dream made him even more terrified. Spot was going to come after him, whether he wanted to or not. He tried to figure out a way to get the message across to Spot to back off, but there wasn’t any way he could without looking suspicious to Hanna, and by extension, Snyder.

Like clockwork, the lock on the door clicked and swung open. Race’s eyes snapped downwards as they did every time Hanna walked in. Except this time it wasn’t her voice he was greeted by.

“Look at me, boy.” It snapped. Race looked up in terror and he felt as though he would be sick.

There, standing above him, was Snyder, teeth bared in a wicked smile. Hanna smirked in the doorway behind him, and Snyder gestured for her to bring something in. She obeyed, dragging in a chair and some cuffs. Race took a deep, shuddering breath and bit his tongue before he could make a witty remark.

“Hanna, make it snappy.” Snyder spat, and Hanna dashed to pull Race off the floor where he was paralyzed with fear. Race was shoved into the chair and cuffed down without even moving, and suddenly his lungs didn’t seem big enough to take in all the breath he realized he wasn’t getting. His mouth was dry as Hanna left, and for the first time in Race’ entire life, he wished she would stay. 

When she was long gone, Snyder let it fall silent for a while. Race didn’t dare speak, not after what had happened. He was completely and utterly fucked, and he was going to die here. But not before Snyder tried to get some information out of him.

“So, Antonio. It’s been a while.” Snyder said, and Race gulped, though he bravely responded.

“That’s not my name.” He said. Snyder laughed, dark and humorless.

“Ahh, dumb _and_ impolite. It’s abundantly clear you’ve lost the manners I taught you. We’ll fix that.” Race shuddered, powerless and weak at Snyder’s disposal. Snyder gripped Race tight by the chin. He leaned in so close that Race could smell his breath and he wanted to cry.

“First of all, you will not speak unless spoken to.” He said, and Race looked down instead of responding. Before Race could do anything else, Snyder reached his hand up and slapped him hard across the face, his rings leaving lasting imprints and one even drawing a small amount of blood with its studs.

“What do we say, Antonio?” Snyder asked cruelly. Race mumbled something, his eyes still cast downwards.

“A little louder, please. And look at me this time.” Snyder said. Race slowly, reluctantly looked up.

“Yes, sir.” He squeaked out, feeling himself fall back into the way he had been before, except this time he was tied up, with far worse to come.

“You always were prideful. Always spunky. Never really obeyed me. I should have seen what you did coming.”

“Leave me alone.” Race begged, pleaded. He meant to sound tough, but it came out more afraid than anything.

“As you wish.” Snyder replied coolly. “Have fun without water.” He finished, tightening the cuffs on Race’s wrists and turning on his heel, leaving the room without a trace of reluctance.

The lock clicked shut and Race let his head fall against his chest.

“Fuck.” He mumbled, letting a silent sob wrack his body. 

He was never going to get out of here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... What do you think?
> 
> I tried to let Race have his little moment, because he's my baby and I love him (even though I put him through more hell than literally any other character I've ever written). 
> 
> Theories on where the story is going/what happened to Race? Feedback on the chapter? Let me know!
> 
> Love you all!
> 
> <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, there! I'm sorry this breaks the format of the previous chapters, I just have a lot going on and I want to make sure I get one out at a reasonable time. The next chapter will be solely from Race's perspective, and then I'll return to normal.

Spot sat at his desk, fingers threaded tightly through his hair and eyes screwed shut.

He was right when he had said this would be the hardest mission he had ever undergone, let alone led. Everything was jumbled up in his head, even as they made strides toward tracking Snyder down.

It had been a week. He’d been gone a week. 

Spot took a few deep breaths and thought over everything he could.

 _Antonio Higgins_. That was his soulmate’s name, he had found out. Except he didn’t want to be called that, and Spot understood why. It had taken until he saw the girl for him to figure it out. Everything clicked, and he remembered what had happened to his soulmate, but he didn’t think it linked to Snyder in any way. Clearly, he was mistaken.

Specs walked in, coffee for both men in hand and a sympathetic smile on his face. Spot took his cup gratefully and sipped the searing hot liquid as Specs sat down and started to type.

“We need to go to the prison.” Specs said, determined.

“Why’s that?” Spot asked. He reopened the tabs on his computer, typing instructions for their field team. Crutchie was on an earpiece line with two of them as he led them through a possible location Snyder’s gang could be squatting.

“The legal team hooked us up with interrogation warrants. We’re clear to talk to whoever we need to, so long as they are known accomplices of Snyder’s.”

Spot grinned. Finally, something to get him out of the office and distract him. Something that could give them information they desperately needed.

“Yeah, let’s go.” He replied. 

Both men stood, finishing off their coffee and hopping in the elevator after letting Davey know where they were going and that they’d have their phones with them. Pulitzer had implemented a whole new list of rules for anybody leaving the office for any reason, as they couldn’t be sure if or when they’d be caught in the midst of the operation.

They got to ground level and left into the cool Autumn air. The city felt stuffy no matter how many times Spot went out in it, but still it was home. 

Spot and Specs made the quick trek to the prison via Specs’ car, and strolled in quickly, flashing badges and letting themselves be lead by a stuffy looking secretary to an interrogation room, sitting down and handing the prison records of the man they needed to speak to. The woman nodded and left, leaving Specs and Spot to their own devices for a few moments.

“I’m going to ask about my soulmate.” Spot said matter-of-factly. Specs furrowed his brows.

“Why?” He asked. 

“I recognize him. From my dreams.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, this was was arrested years a-”

“-This dates back before he got kidnapped.” Spot interrupted. Specs fell silent.

“I’ll take notes.” He acquiesced, acknowledging that Spot was more prepared to handle this one.

The secretary walked back in, an officer and inmate in tow. Specs booted up his laptop and opened to where he could take notes.

The officer cuffed the inmate to a chair stationed across the table from where the agents. He reminded both men that he’d be just outside if anything went wrong, and to call him in that event. The agents thanked him and he left, leaving just the two investigators and the inmate. Spot took initiative and spoke almost immediately.

“I need you to be honest and open with me, alright Mr. Patel?” He began.

“Yup.” The older, gruff looking man responded. He was tall and heavy set, with a scraggly beard and a quickly receding hairline.

“You were arrested for participation and organization of an illegal prostitution ring, including not only victims of human trafficking but minors, as well.” Spot stated, and Specs gaped. Clearly Spot was pulling out all the stops.

The man only nodded, not saying a word as the single overhead light in the room cast dark shadows across their faces.

“And Hanna Baker was a known associate of yours, though when you were arrested, she fled and is still wanted.” Another nod from the man.

“What do you remember about a boy named Antonio Higgins?” Spot asked. Specs visibly held his composure, but Spot knew him well enough to see the panic in his stance: The way his jaw tightened, his hands trembling slightly.

Chip Patel grinned, wide and evil and wicked.

“Ahhh, yes, Antonio Higgins. Kid hated being called Antonio, insisted on Race. We didn’t listen to him, of course. Real names sell. I remember that he was a dancer. The cutest goddamn teen any of us had ever seen.” He took a breath, and Spot’s stomach churned at the look of desire, nay, _hunger_ that gleamed in Chip’s eyes.

“He was picked up after running away from home, and we took him willingly. Hanna and I taught him, he became our star kid. Hundreds to thousands of dollars by the hour, we would charge. Eventually, he decided we weren’t the best things for him, and he left. Ratted to the police. Got us all busted. Snyder was real pissed, and swore he’d give that kid what for. He destroyed a facet of Snyder’s empire that was ‘real profitable.” The man finished, and anger gleamed, unadulterated in Spot’s eyes. He kept his composure while speaking.

“Do you have any information on the current whereabouts of Snyder?” Chip scoffed. 

“As if I’d tell you.” He dismissed the question, but Spot was insistent.

“How about Hanna?” Chip faltered. He looked reluctant, and deliberated for a moment, but shook his head. Spot was only egged on.

“Police report says she could have gotten you both out. Is that true? Did she leave you to serve life while she got away scot free, living on Snyder’s shoulders, his precious little pet? Shouldn’t you be the favorite?”

“Fine!” Chip cried out, looking angry, but like he couldn’t wait to deliver retribution.

Specs silently slid a slip of paper over to Chip, who took it and forcefully scribbled out an address.

“If you can’t find her there, tell the landlord I was out and want to see her. Get that broad the treatment she deserves.” Chip spat. Spot stood, and Specs shut his laptop.

“Thank you, Mr. Patel.” Specs said, and both matched out, thanking the officer and secretary and not speaking until they were seated in Specs’ car.

“That bastard.” Spot said, fury dripping from his voice. His muscles were tense, his fists balled up.

“I’m sorry Spot, I had no idea.” Specs said softly. Spot scoffed, though Specs knew the anger wasn’t directed towards him.

“I’m not the one to apologise to. I’m not the one who went through hell and found the courage to tell the police. _I’m_ not the one who’s being whittled away at as we fucking speak.” Specs sighed softly, reaching a hand over to grip Spot’s tight. 

They made it back, and Spot announced that he was going to the training room to unwind. Specs nodded, offering to handle sending out new found information and assemble a field team to go after Hanna.

Spot changed into a simple tank top and sweatpants, going down the elevator and into a lower floor, where training was the sole purpose. Weapons of all sorts lined the walls, shooting ranges and sparring rings covered every available inch.

Spot stretched a moment, fury still coursing through him stronger than he knew possible.

He wrapped and gloved his hands, stepping over to a punching bag.

He laid a punch. 

And another.

Another. 

More, dozens, hundreds more, until he panted and his fists cried out in pain.

“ _Do it for Him._ ” A voice inside him instructed. Spot screamed and cried and hit until his fists were sure to be bruising under the gloves, and the anger in him almost subsided.

Spot felt sturdy hands on his shoulders, steadying him.

“Spot, relax.” Spot jumped and spun, ready to throw a punch at whoever was stopping him from letting his anger out. He paused.

It was Jack.

Spot seemed to deflate, taking a breath and looking Jack in the eyes, weak and defeated.

“What’s wrong?” Jack asked, Spot collapsed against Jack, physical exhaustion catching up to him. Jack pulled of Spot’s gloves for him, silently leading them over to a wall they could lean against, and guiding Spot to the ground.

Jack always seemed to have that effect on Spot, calming and trusting. Jack understood Spot, they shared so much experience, and had always seemed to just fit well together. Spot would always trust him, even if he didn’t like to admit it.

“I’m scared, Jack.” Spot admitted, feeling tears well up in his eyes as the words tumbled from his mouth. Jack wrapped Spot tightly in his arms, holding the shorted man securely against his chest.

“What are you scared of?” Jack asked, rubbing soothing circles into Spot’s back.

“Everything. What if he dies? Or doesn't get better? What if I can’t save him?” Spot asked helplessly, falling against Jack in a fit of sobs. Jack gently shushed him.

“It’s going to be alright, Spot. I was with Snyder for three weeks and I came out alright. We’ll find him before then, I’ll make sure of it.” Jack said softly, letting Spot sink even further into him.

“I’ve got you, Spot.” The smaller man let out another desperate sob.

“Everything will be alright.” Jack said.

In the moment, Spot felt like it would be anything but.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! This chapter was a lot of fun to write, tbh. I relish in my character's suffering.
> 
> What do you think about the information we got in this chapter? Any questions, comments, thoughts? Leave 'em in the comments! (I love reading what you guys think it gives me LIFE)
> 
> Love you all, have a great day!
> 
> <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so short, I am painfully busy with AP finals coming up and the rest of my testing to study for, as well. 
> 
> I rlly don't want my GPA to drop I'm doing so good rn

Race was growing weaker and weaker by the day. Snyder was insistent on getting his revenge for him ratting to the police, but it wasn’t his fault.

The kids there, boys and girls alike, lived horribly. They’d made homes out of abandoned warehouses, travelling in groups lest they go missing one night. Not that there was anything they could do. 

Still, Race went half crazy on those streets, eating as little as possible and watching his friends do the same. Sharpening knives in case somebody got too rough. Covering bruises and blemishes with makeup he didn’t have money for, all so he’d be desirable to the older men he presented himself to. 

Every night he came back and cleaned himself up, but still felt vile. He would curl up next to Lucy, Smalls as she went by, and try to sleep as best he could.

And if certain night, one quietly wept, the other wouldn’t say anything. They would instead hold each other a bit tighter, fearing the embarrassment and vulnerability that was being beaten out of them day by day. 

As time went by, it seemed more and more hopeless that they would ever escape. Race was so young, and the only things he ever had to look forward to were his dreams. He was immensely sorry his soulmate didn’t have the same luxury.

His soulmate was a genius. Hardworking, and determined, but still empathetic. Race was only the latter of those things, but he found himself so comforted by seeing his soulmate living a decent life that his was always less important.

Even so, it took everything he had to survive the life he lived. That is, until Smalls got sick.

It was a grossly cold winter, and even though Race had given her every blanket he had and could afford, she became too ill to work, so he took her to Chip, who said he’d handle it and took her away.

Race never saw her again.

A door creaked open and he was forced to stop reminiscing, and it was Snyder. He wasn’t going to beat around the bush, as he walked in and immediately backhanded Race. He hissed in pain. _Brass knuckles._

“What do you know about Spot Conlon?” Snyder asked, grinning so wide that Race could see his rotted teeth from where he sat. He flinched, a dirty, blonde lock of hair falling into his face.

“Nothing.” Race lied through his teeth. Snyder shook his head and slapped him again, harder. Race felt blood trickle down his cheek where he had certainly reopened a wound.

“You’re lying.” Race felt weak as another slap met him when he shook his head in response.

He let his head fall to his chest, and he slumped down.

Snyder turned and left, and Race knew he wouldn’t eat today.

Tears streamed down his face, and he wished nothing more than to tell his soulmate to stop.

“I can’t lose you, too.” He whimpered, helplessly . As if on cue, Snyder walked back in, a look of satisfaction on his face as he twirled a knife in his hands.

“Who can’t you lose?” Snyder asked.

“Go to hell.” Race responded, but he sounded so weak, so frail and helpless, that he wished Snyder would just kill him.

Still, he wouldn’t let him find out about Spot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again that this chapter is so short, but it's important. Some backstory, some foreshadowing. All that jazz
> 
> Please let me know if you enjoyed, I love talking to you guys!
> 
> Love you all!
> 
> <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so short, I decided to split it into two chapters because the next one is LONG. I'm working on it right now, but I want it to be perfect so it will probably take me a while to get through.

Spot dragged himself off of his air mattress with a groan. Specs had gone home, but Spot had too much work to do, he couldn’t waste time on traveling to his apartment.

Within minutes, he was dressed, had coffee, and was typing away at his computer, his eyes flitting over the screen as he worked. The documents created by the team as a whole were impressive to say the least, but it wasn’t enough. They had yet to find Snyder, even as they diligently worked the trail.

For almost two weeks, Spot had been tormented by the sight of his soulmate, of Race, being tortured and beaten and questioned until barely conscious. It was unbearable. 

Still, there was work to do. Spot hunched down, typing and researching and working until he the words seemed to blend together on the screen. 

His door burst open, and Spot spun around. In the doorway was Davey, his face flushed and his eyes wild. Spot turned and words tumbled out of Davey’s mouth as though he could barely process them himself.

“I think we found Snyder.” Spot was up in an instant, following down the hall to where the intelligence team sat with Specs, Smalls, and Jack huddled around a computer. As soon at they made it in and shut the door, Crutchie started explaining.

“Alright, so we spoke with Hanna’s landlord, the one that Chip sent us to. He explained everything as soon as he saw the badges.” Spot leaned over Crutchie’s shoulder, gazing intently at the mao pulled up on his screen.

“Hanna still lives there, and half the building is Snyder’s crew. Snyder pays for their housing in return for the money they bring in through illegal deals. We explained we had a warrant and he gave us the key to Hanna’s apartment. There were notes, and the usual stuff, except her journal had all sorts of stuff about Race in there. Detailing everything they’d done to him. More than enough to get them all arrested. We tracked down the address that Hanna and the rest of them are almost certainly staying at.” 

“Snyder won’t let himself be arrested, that’s never worked before in every time we’ve tried. Hell, we’ve lost agents over it.” Spot interrupted, and Davey spoke next, and although it was joyous news, there was no joy in his words.

“We have a warrant from the Pentagon to use lethal force, but it’s your mission, so it’s your choice.” Spot’s heart raced.

“We can legally kill Snyder if it means saving the people he’s holding right now?” Spot clarified. Davey nodded.

The room went silent, and the tension was palpable. Spot stilled for a few moments, thinking over the odds and possible outcomes. 

Finally, slowly, he nodded.

“We’ll do what have to.” Spot said. Smalls spoke up.

“I want my entire team on the mission. Spot, Jack, I want you, too.” She said. 

Specs spoke. “I’ll stay with the intelligence and legality teams. We’ll be in earpieces and watching over you guys.” He said. The group nodded. 

“Let’s get geared up, we don’t have time to waste.” Smalls said. The teams launched into action, leaving to their mission room to get ready.

Uniforms, cameras, microphones, earpieces. Equipment. Guns. The room was silent as the agents loaded their guns, leaving extras in their pockets should they need to. 

Buttons spoke up, to every single agent in the room. Everyone on the mission was here by now, silently preparing for the task ahead.

“Here’s the plan.” He started. “Our field team is going to go in from all sides, and you’re going to watch each other’s backs. You have to look out for each other, Snyder is incredibly dangerous, we’re all very well aware. Spot, you’re going to stay away from Race. Smalls, you too. You both have a history with him, and we want to make sure you aren’t distracted by that. You two and Jack are going to find, and kill, Hanna and Snyder.” He said, and when Jack twitched, Spot shifted to grip his hand tightly.

“This is your chance.” Smalls whispered. Jack nodded once.

“Everybody else, I need you guys getting rid of grunts, by whatever means necessary, and freeing out captives, specifically Race. He’ll be brought here and put in the medical wing, the rest are to be brought to the hospital. We’ll have paramedics waiting outside.” Buttons continued. “Make sure you all have knives, we know how fond of them Snyder’s gang are.” The room was still for a few moments. 

“Lets go.” Jack said.

The room launched itself into action, adrenaline coursing through Spot like he had never known it before. This was the single most important thing he would ever do in his life. Smalls, Jack, and Spot loaded up into one of the agency’s field vans. Davey announced that he would be their driver, and instructed them to turn on the computer system rooted in the back so he could help them as soon they needed it. 

What followed next felt like an eternity of fidgeting, worrying, and thinking between all four agents. Race was Spot’s soulmate. Smalls hadn’t seen Race since she got sick, since she escaped from Snyder’s prostitution ring. Jack had been held and tortured by Snyder for the three weeks, the same amount of time Race had been missing. Davey had suffered through it, the same as Spot had.

They all had a reason, an anger coursing through them. 

Finally, the van parked directly in front of the building, other vans doing the same in perfect synchronicity. 

“Go.” Davey instructed.

Smalls flung the car open, and the three agents shot out of it and into the front door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... What do we think? How do we feel?
> 
> Thoughts, predictions, opinions? Leave them in the comments, I love reading your theories!
> 
> Have a great day, love you all! <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This 2,000 word action sequence was a nightmare to plan, but extremely fun to write.

Every agent on the mission was creeping inside as silently as they could, listening in to information teams informing them through earpieces and access to every agent’s mounted camera.

Crutchie added himself to Davey’s line. “Stretcher is on the east exit. Be careful, try to stay away from Race if you can.” He reminded them, and Spot nodded, though Crutchie couldn’t see him so it didn’t matter.

Smalls’ petite frame hovered in Spot’s peripheral, signaling that she would branch off. Jack did the same, leaving Spot to venture through the main hallway alone. 

He took careful, calculated steps, his eyes flicking back and forth from the ground to the corridor before him. He couldn’t afford to mess this up, presumably, nobody had been found yet.

“Spot, I need you to open the door to your left. Search the room.” Davey’s voice chimed in his ear, and Spot did as he was told, pivoting to slowly turn the doorknob before throwing the door open. 

Nothing except for a putrid smell. And a chair in the center of the room. No windows, no lights. Spot leaned in to investigate, but was unable to see, flicking on the flashlight attached to his gun. Still, not enough, he took a step forward.

And glass crunched under his foot, making a noise loud enough to alert anyone in the area.

Spot cursed near silently, and turned on his heel, pointing his gun and looking for cover. Nothing.

And then, seemingly out of nowhere, a scream sounded. Spot froze dead and awaited instruction.

“We’re operating universally from here on out.” Crutchie’s voice in his ear. “Everybody can hear everybody. I need everybody on the ground floor to get upstairs, now. That scream didn’t come from us.” 

Spot dashed out of his room, meeting up with Smalls and Jack to carry out their plan. Smalls cursed and pointed out that there was no cover should things go south. Jack gripped his gun tighter and reminded them both that they weren’t here to be safe, but to recover captives and kill Snyder and Hanna.

_Kill Snyder and Hanna._ Spot walked a little faster up the stairs.

They made it to the top, being told that everybody else was on the other side of the desolate building. It was silent for a moment, still.

A creak sounded. All three agents turned in different directions, operating as one well oiled machine, in perfect, practiced unison. _We’re here for a reason._

Spot’s eyes scanned through his scope. A doorknob turning. The source of the creaking. Spot gestured that he was going in, and for Smalls to cover him. Jack stayed to watch out for more people, crouching down on the stairs. 

Snyder always did this, he thrived on the power play. Capturing him and his gang was a game of cat and mouse, and Snyder always had the advantage. This was his building. All Spot had to do was wait until hell broke loose, and then protect. He could do this.

Spot crept near silently to the door, and Davey spoke in his ear.

“Everybody, get ready.” Spot drew his gun up higher. “Spot, kick it in.” 

He did without question, knocking back the person behind it a foot or so. It was more than enough time.

The man, a grunt, certainly used for bait, drew a handgun. Spot fired without hesitation, blood spattering on the walls on the confined room, on him. He grimaced a little, but had no time to worry about it.

“They know where you are, move.” Davey said. Gunshots rang from across the building, and Spot rejoined Jack.

“Where’s Smalls?” He mumbled. Jack cursed. There was the sound of a fight in the room she had entered for cover, and Jack sprang into action. 

Adrenaline coursed through Spot’s veins, fierce and boiling hot, only encouraging him.

_Kill Snyder. Kill Hanna._ A mantra in his mind. _Kill Snyder. Kill Hanna._

Spot watched jack disarm the grunt holding Smalls down, and they both left. 

“Split up.” Davey said. So they did. Spot walked more towards the main corridor, pushing through a set of double doors and into a large room, presumably a previous living room. Tables, chairs, and debris were strewn about. Agents hid behind them. 

Spot had walked in on a war zone. 

“Buttons found Race. Get past them. Spot, Snyder isn’t in there, get out and find him. “ Spot turned and barreled out, sprinting through the rickety building with anger coursing through his body. His heart thrummed in his chest.

In the building, on this floor was the woman who had tormented Race for years, and the man who had tortured him for escaping. _Kill Snyder. Kill Hanna._

As he ran, a door flung open behind him. Spot turned to stop whoever was leaving it, but it was too late. The butt of a gun rammed itself into the spot between his shoulder blades, catapulting him to the ground. Quickly, Spot spun so he was facing whoever had hit him. 

Hanna.

_Kill Hanna._ She kicked him swiftly in the jaw, shoving him back down. Broken glass and splintered wood pressed into his back, and Spot looked up just in time to see Hanna drop down on top of him.

He’d lost the advantage. She was in control. Hanna slammed a few well placed punched against Spot’s face, and he felt blood fill his mouth. _Shit._

He reached up to throw her off of him, but she grinned and pulled a knife, slicing into his arm forcefully. He winced and threw his uninjured fist into her nose. 

Hanna grunted and recoiled, but stayed where she was, straddling Spot’s chest. She grinned wider, pulling her knife out and moving to stab him.

Spot’s opportunity arose, and he grabbed onto the knife, pushing it backwards. Hanna grunted and pushed her weight against the blade, but Spot was strong. He wrenched it from her grip, finally shoving her off of him.

_Kill Hanna._ Spot pushed Hanna backwards, onto her back. He stared her dead in the eyes and pinned her down. 

“You deserved this.” He gritted through his teeth, ignoring Hanna’s fighting and desperate pleas for help. He took a moment to pull the blade back, looking her dead in the eyes as he plunged it into her chest. Except he didn’t stop. Once, twice, three times, he stabbed her as deep as he could, with a power he had never shown before.

“Spot, that’s enough.” Davey pleaded with him, sounding shocked, and Spot paused.

Hanna convulsed momentarily, the sounds of her choking on her own blood filled the corridor. Spot didn’t move, watching her eyes slip backwards into her skull and her blood soak her shirt.

Spot looked up, panting, as she finally fell silent. Smalls stood there, looking momentarily shocked before her expression turned hard.

“Thank you.” She said. Spot simply nodded, wiping the blood from his face with his uninjured arm.

“You’ve wasted time. Find Snyder.” Jack showed up, and he paled at the sight of Hanna’s corpse. Smalls flicked her head towards Spot, but he didn’t feel guilt. Really, in a way, Spot felt a twisted sense of satisfaction.

_Hanna is dead. Kill Snyder._ The voice inside him reminded.

“Smalls, go help the wounded. Jack, Spot, you get to Snyder. He’s in the next hall, we think.”

The two men made eye contact for a brief moment before they both charged forward, bursting through doors with unadulterated rage, its power surging through them simultaneously, like it was going to burst.

In the background, there were the screams of mean falling, and had Spot been paying more attention, he would have heard agents getting to Race, his figure battered and bloody. Fights continued as they tried to clear a way to get Race safely downstairs.

They heard a low voice from behind a door.

“In here, boys.” It said. Jack shook with anger, Spot on the verge of doing the same. The burst through the rickety door, letting it creak as they entered. Spot was immediately bombarded, a man digging a blade into his shoulder.

Spot hissed with pain, groaning as he gripped his wound and sank to the floor, a gun being wrenched against his skull by the man who stabbed him in the first place.

Jack held his gun up warily, his nervousness visible to Spot, who knew him well enough to recognize his ticks.

Snyder grinned.

“Shut the door.” He said. Jack obeyed. 

“Drop the weapon.” Hesitantly, Jack pulled the gun from his shoulder and placed it on the ground.

“You do as I say, or I’ll fucking shoot you both, you hear?” Snyder said. The man gripped Spot tighter. Jack nodded.

“Good boy.” Snyder cooed, and Spot felt his stomach stir. Jack didn’t acknowledge the knife hidden beneath his sleeve, ready to be unsheathed at any moment. He couldn’t move faster than a bullet, however. 

Spot cried out as the man holding him dug a hand into his wounded shoulder, irritating it.

“Jack, do whatever he says. We have backup on the way, if you can stall for a few minutes you’ll be fine.” Jack hummed his agreement, and Snyder spoke again.

“I want you to come back to me, Jack Kelly.” He said. Slowly, Jack nodded.

“On what terms?” He asked, his voice shaking. Whether it was with fear or rage, Spot couldn’t tell. 

“We let your friend go, and we return the corpses of any dead agents.” Davey’s voice again.

“We don’t have any agents confirmed dead, Jack. Go with it. Buttons will be there soon.” 

Snyder said something else, but suddenly it was faint. The world around Spot spun a little, his focus circling in and out. _I’m bleeding out._

He heard some more words, from Jack. Then Davey, clearly, loudly in his ear.

“Spot, when I tell you to, you need to push that gun away from your head.” Spot nodded weakly, a thought coursing through his mind. 

_My best friend is going to die because I failed to kill one man._

Jack leaned in to shake hands with Snyder, and Spot furrowed his brows. Feeling had lost meaning in his mind, everything blending together in a blurry haze of thoughts and regret. _I’m dying. I’m bleeding out. Fuck, I’m not dying here. Listen to Davey. Fight. Save Jack. Save Race. Save yourself. Save yourself. Save yourself._

“Spot, now!” Davey exclaimed as Jack’s hand connected with Snyder’s. 

Spot cried out loudly, buying Jack a moment as he forced the gun away from his head, it fired, the bullet lodging itself in the wall. The man cursed, digging his hands hard into Spot’s shoulder. He screamed in anguish, but held strong. _Save Jack. Save yourself._

In the blink of an eye, Jack flipped his sleeve just so, his blade sliding out of it. He gripped it tight, and without hesitation, stabbed Snyder square in the chest.

“Get out.” Davey commanded, and Jack did just that. He turned and yanked the gun out of the man’s grip, firing a bullet square between his eyes. He slumped onto Spot’s back, and Spot shoved him off, staggering to his feet.

Jack turned and fired the rest of the clip into Snyder’s head with a stone cold look on his face. Spot wondered if that’s how he looked when he killed Hanna. A murderer, without a hint of regret. Even if a murderer for good reason.

Spot tried to take a step out the door, but stumbled. Jack rushed to his side.

“Stay with me, Spot. We’re gonna get you patched up, you’re gonna be just fine.” 

Jack threw Spot’s arm over his shoulder, guiding him down the stairs and out the building, rushing him into the van. They catapulted themselves into the seat, Smalls taking her place beside them both. 

Spot’s head lulled to the side, onto Jack’s shoulder, as he winced, yet again, in pain. His vision blurred even further, and sounds became a faint buzz in the distance. 

“We did it.” Spot mumbled, before slumping over on top of Jack completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... What do we think? Did we like, did we hate? Let me know, please!
> 
> I've never written an action sequence this long, and it was super fun tbh. I had a great time with it. 
> 
> PSA: THIS IS NOT THE END OF THE STORY. I AM NOT DONE JUST YET
> 
> Questions, comments, opinions, reactions? Let me know in the comments!
> 
> Love you all, have a great day!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goddammit.

Two days later, Spot sat in the medical wing of the agency, even more miserable than he had been when he was stabbed. Specs questioned how that was possible. Spot scowled instead of responding. 

As it turns out, Jack had dislocated Spot’s shoulder and he had fainted from blood loss and shock. His right arm was situated snugly in a sling that made him sweat and bandages that made him itch. 

That was the least of his worries, however. Snyder was dead and the city’s police were thrown into a frenzy. Dozens of gangsters had been arrested in the past two days alone, the disorder working nicely in their favor. Spot didn’t give a rat’s ass about it.

There was paperwork to be done, but Specs took it without a word of complaint. Nobody knew what he had done other than those who had been there.

He’d _murdered_ Hanna. He hadn’t killed her to protect himself, or Jack, or any other agent. He had an excuse, sure, but he was still a murder.

The fluorescent hospital light bore into Spot, and he crossed his arms and groaned, wishing, above all things, that he could at least see Race. 

It was tearing him up inside. Race, his soulmate, was barely a few rooms away. Spot couldn’t see him, and the doctors wouldn’t even tell him why. 

The door swung open, and there stood Specs, a worried look on his face that melted as soon as he saw Spot. 

“Jesus Christ Spot, we need you in the office. Jack’s not doing so good, and Davey can’t even calm him down. You’ve always been good at that stuff will you-” 

Spot was already up. Finally, a distraction. Something to take him away from the thought of Race, behind locked doors, suffering from some mysterious illness that Spot could do nothing to help.

He made his way quickly to the elevator and to his own wing, the place he had been trying to avoid at every possible expense. The agents looked at him with pity, especially those who had rescued Race. That did nothing to calm his nerves.

Still, he pushed through his peers into the room Specs steered him towards, before being thanked by Specs and flagged in. 

Spot shut the door behind him, taking in the scene before him. There was nobody else in the office but the three men, but he felt suffocated already. Jack sat in the floor, eyes screwed shut, sobbing and shaking and crying out as Davey desperately held him, trying to understand a situation he knew he could do anything but. Soulmate or not, Jack wasn’t going to be easy to calm.

Spot crept to the center of the room, helping Davey back up a bit.

“Hey, Jack. He mumbled softly. “It’s me, it’s Spot. Can I touch you?” Jack nodded aggressively, but continued to sob. Spot crept up to him, pushing his sweat-sleek locks away from his face.

Without a word, Spot pulled Jack towards him and snaked his arms around Jack’s shoulders, letting the taller man make himself comfortable in the crook of his neck.

“I’ve got you, Jack. You’re in the office, with me, with Davey. It’s not real… You’re okay.” He spoke into Jack’s hair, signaling for Davey to help out. He nervously gripped Jack’s hand and looked to Spot for approval. He nodded and Jack gripped back.

A wretched sob wracked his entire body, and Spot held him tighter. A quiet whimper escaped his throat. 

“Not again…” He choked through sobs. Spot’s heart shattered, and when he looked over he noticed that Davey had started to cry, too.

“I’ve got you, Jack. Snyder’s gone. You’re never going back there again, swear on my life. You’re safe. Breathe, nice deep breaths okay?” Spot rambled, taking deep breaths to guide Jack on. Eventually, their breathing synchronized and Jack pulled away, tears still falling freely down his face, but he was grounded at the very least. 

Davey pulled Spot into a hug. “Thank you.” He said, Spot smiled a little and reminded Davey that it was no problem. 

Spot stood to leave, and as he left, he heard the first words of a crucial exchange.

“Davey? I’m ready to talk about what happened.” Jack said. Spot closed the door quietly and left the two alone, heading back to the medical wing where he knew he wouldn’t be bothered.

As soon as he made it down, Sarah gripped his bicep tight. Spot had just recently found out she was Davey’s sister, and would have never once noticed if it hadn’t been pointed out to him. The empathetic girl, who was so gentle in her work, seemed the polar opposite of Davey.

Still, she looked him square in the eyes and, for the first time in two days, didn’t look at him with pity. Maybe she was just fantastic at her job.

“You can come see Race.” She said, and didn’t wait for a response before tugging him back, past a heavy set of double door, past his friends, doctors, and patients all making their way through the halls. She tugged him into another hallway, where the lights were dimmer and the bustle was replaced by still, intense quiet.

It was then that Spot learned that silence could suffocate.

Still, he let himself be led until Sarah suddenly stopped, turning on her heels and shaking Spot until he met his eyes. So many emotions flooded through Spot, he could barely feel anything at all. 

“You can go in, Spot. But I need to warn you.” She said, and Spot was suddenly forced to focus. Before him, behind Sarah, was a door that presumably led to his soulmate, his _soulmate_. Spot could push Sarah out of the way and go inside alone. He decided against it.

“Warn me what?” He asked, his voice coming out rough and low.

“Warn you that Race…Isn’t himself.” Sarah could hear Spot’s heart falling to the floor and shattering.

“Let me go inside.” Spot replied coolly, fighting to keep his stoic composure. 

Sarah silently stepped aside, letting Spot walk inside. He did so without hesitation.

And as soon as he was through the door, Spot understood what Davey meant when he said seeing your soulmate under Snyder’s control was really the worst thing in the world.

Race sat, in person, shackled to a chair, though it looked comfortable. His body was adorned with bruises and lacerations, so many so that any bare skin was almost completely covered. 

The worst part, however, were Race’s eyes. Race’s gorgeous, icy blue eyes, which hardened as soon as Spot entered the room. He sat down on the floor, as there was nothing in the room aside from the chair, and a ring where the keys to Race’s shackles were kept. Completely blank. Presumably, like Race’s mind. Race didn’t remember him. Race didn’t remember him. Race didn’t remember him.

“I’m supposed to kill you.” Race said. Spot attempted to suck in a breath at just the same time as it decided to leave his lungs completely. Race thrashed against his chains, chest heaving as he tried to get to Spot.

“Okay. I’ll let you out, and you can kill me.” Spot said. Nothing Spot could do would make himself care about dying. For the first time ever, Spot thought that maybe death would be a good place to be in, at the very least better than he hell he was in then.

Spot stepped over to the ring, pulling the keys off of them and turning towards Race. He started to undo the shackles.

“Don’t you want to live?” Race asked, his brows furrowing even as he leaned towards Spot and his keys.

Spot shrugged. “Not particularly.” 

“Don’t your friends want to live?” Spot’s heart rate picked up slightly, and he stepped back a few inches.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m going to kill Jack Kelly after this. And the tiny broad, Smalls. Some other agent, Specs, too.” 

Spot’s chest constricted. Race spoke without a hint of care, or worry, or empathy. Spot knew in that moment, that if he let Race go, he would fight until he himself was gunned down.

He couldn’t do that. Not to Race, who had to be somewhere in there. Jack was. Spot could save him. He could do it.

“No…Nevermind.” Spot choked out, stumbling back and hanging up the keys, leaving the room as quickly as he could and trying to block out Race’s violent screams.

As soon as the door was shut, Spot collapsed against the wall and slid to the floor. Sarah was gone.

Race didn’t remember him. Spot had just met his soulmate, after all his life, and had been threatened with murder.

And the murder of his friends. A promise of Race’s death, as well.

 _”Fuck.”_ Spot whimpered, and let his head fall against his chest, collapsing into sobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to get these chapter up as fast as I can, I promise!!! I've just had lots of exams and lots of studying for the rest of my exams coming up. It's so tiring, and I swear I've been giving every spare moment to writing, and that I'll keep updating as much as possible!
> 
> That being said, what do you think of this chapter? I would promise things get better from here, but I can't do that. I'll leave you to decipher why.
> 
> Comments are SO greatly appreciated, they're what's getting me through this!
> 
> Love you all! <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to get up! I had exams (they end on Wednesday, yay!) and so much work to do to prepare for this summer. I'm going to study psychology for a month in North Carolina for an internship. I get to be an apprentice to a psychiatrist and everything!
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy the last chapter of this seemingly endless fic.

A week passed. Spot was excused from work, but never left the office. Pulitzer hadn’t told him he wasn’t supposed to be working, he figured it best. Spot was angrier than usual, and many agents had caught him sobbing in one situation or another.

Sarah had picked up pretty quickly on Spot’s plan to let himself be killed, and had put an end to it immediately, installing cameras in Race’s room.

Spot walked down the hallway to the medical wing, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He spun on his heel. Davey.

“What do you want?” He spat, drawing his shoulders up defensively. Davey looked at him cautiously, his face a perfect mix of fear and sympathy. 

“I want to talk to you, Spot.” He said, taking Spot by the arm and leading him to an unused meeting room before he could protest.

“I swear to god Davey, I don’t need your goddamn pity.” Spot was silenced when Davey sat down in a chair and looked at him nervously, jaw locked into place.

“I’m not here to give you pity.”

“Really? Then, prey tell, what are you here to do?”

“Tell you I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” Davey repeated. Silence fell over the room. Spot didn’t speak, rather just waiting for Davey to say something.

Finally, he did.

“I need you to understand that I know what you’re going through. I was in your shoes exactly. It wasn’t fun, and it wasn’t pretty, but look at Jack and I now. We’re happy.” Davey said earnestly, and Spot scoffed.

“Yeah, things are different with you.” 

“Are they really, though?” Davey asked.

“Yes. I could have- _should_ seen this coming. I knew about his goddamn past. We’re only in this situation because of me. Agents were wounded and some almost died because of me-”

“But you killed Snyder.”

“Jack killed Snyder.” Spot reminded coldly. “I was too busy bleeding to death.” Davey looked at Spot with an emotion that he couldn’t quite peg, but could only describe as lost.

“Okay, so the path that lead you here wasn’t pretty. For either of you. I can understand that, it happens to a lot of soulmates. They go through the worst to end up happy.”

“Yes, but a lot of soulmates don’t get kidnapped, tortured, and trained to be a walking weapon. They don’t have their partner strapped to a chair, practically foaming at the mouth with a desire to kill. A lot of people don’t-”

Spot was silenced as his watch chimed with a notification from the Agency, and he rushed to get it open.

“Get in the medical ward. Now.” Was all the message read. Spot cursed and leapt to his feet.

“We’ll continue this later.” Davey said.

“Yeah, sure.” Spot appeased, dashing of the room and into the hall, sprinting down the flights of stairs leading to where Race was. He’d learned a few days ago that the elevator took longer than steps.

He burst through the stairway door, almost panting as he caught Sarah’s attention. She gripped him by the arm and dragged him towards Race’s room.

“What’s going on?” He asked. Sarah looked exhausted, her hair tied up haphazardly and a wild look in her eyes. 

“Race remembers you.” Spot pulled away from her to open the door eagerly. She gripped him tighter.

“Sort of. I need you to remind him. Make sure he knows exactly who you are. Goddamnit Spot, you could meet your soulmate today.” She said, and let him go. 

Spot burst through the door, his heart thumping wildly and his blood rushing through his body.

Race looked up at him, fragile and weak, though at a more healthy weight than when he’d been brought in.

“Racer?” Spot asked tentatively, stepping slowly closer. Race gave him a look so full of emotion his heart almost broke, though he still seemed… Empty. Resigned. Scared.

“I… I think I know you.” Race said softly, like he was afraid of his own voice, like it betrayed him. Spot grinned from ear to ear.

“You do, Race. You do.” Spot started, stepping closer and placing a hand on Race’s chair, not daring to touch him just yet.

“I’m Spot Conlon, and I’m your soulmate. I know practically everything there is to know about you. You’re Italian, and a genius. You’re kind and gorgeous and the biggest bookworm I’ve ever seen in my life.” 

Race looked down, and began to thrash in his chair. Spot stopped, terror coursing through him, before he heard a soft voice.

“K-keep talking. I’m remembering.” It choked out. Spot gently laced his fingers with Race’s. He continued to thrash and scream, face contorted in agony. Spot kept talking.

“You’re a phenomenal actor, and your dancing… Oh my god, your dancing. You look like heaven, like worlds colliding and reforming, like your own force of nature. It’s breathtaking. I’m so lucky to have you in my life.” Spot paused as Race stilled, and for a moment, Spot thought he was unconscious. 

Then, he stirred. Moved a little, lifted his head. Spot’s heart swelled.

“I do know you.” Race said, and his voice was warmer. His eyes bright, exactly like Spot knew them from his dreams.

“You’re Spot Conlon, and you’re my soulmate. You’re a spy for the US, head of your department, and you’re a genius. You don’t have very healthy sleeping habits, but you make it work anyways. You make your coffee the exact right way every single morning, and you care for everyone you see. You’re loyal and kind and everything I could ever want in a man.” Race said.

Tears sprung to Spot’s eyes as he ran to the walls of the room, plucking the key off the wall and unlocking Race’s binds.

Spot pulled Race up and tugged him into the tightest hug he’d ever given. Everything seemed to click into place. The world was bright and warm and happy, and with Race enveloped in his arms, he understood why he did what he did.

“I love you.” Race mumbled. Spot grinned wider.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear that.” He replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... What do we think now that it's finally over? Do we love it? Hate it? What's going on in that department?
> 
> Regardless of that, I'm so glad to have finally finished this fic! I've worked really hard on it, and I think it shows pretty well. I'm proud of how it turned out, at least. I hope you guys feel the same thing!
> 
> As always, I love you all SO much, and hope you have a fantastic day! <3

**Author's Note:**

> So... There's the first chapter.
> 
> Idk why I'm so much better at writing Spot than I am at writing Race. I'm very sorry.
> 
> Anyways, I really hoped you enjoyed! I'm beyond excited to continue this, so your comments, kudos, thoughts, and feedback are SO SO SO appreciated!
> 
> Love you all!
> 
> <3


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